


when your legs give out just lie right down

by bloodscout



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Bathroom Sex, Bipolar Viktor Nikiforov, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Disabled Character, Dom Katsuki Yuuri, Domestic, Foot Fetish, Hand Jobs, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Canon, Retirement, Self-Esteem Issues, Service Submission, Sub Victor Nikiforov, viktor's foot thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 10:38:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11273760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodscout/pseuds/bloodscout
Summary: The light coming through the window was pale, reminiscent of the brisk St Petersburg air, even though they were warm in the safety of their heated apartment, and the way the light played on Yuuri’s face made Viktor’s chest ache. They sat in silence, Viktor folding and Yuuri reading, but it was comfortable. Yuuri would look over his paper and smile at Viktor, pleased with Viktor’s quiet subservience, and Viktor would look up at Yuuri, catch his gaze, and feel a strong, tender joy spread through him. Viktor would do anything for this man, he thought, not for the first time.





	when your legs give out just lie right down

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been reading [ this lovely fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9616553) by ineptshieldmaid and it’s given me a lot of feels about submission and disability and retirement and these boys, so of course I had to wake up at 1:30am and start writing this fic.  
> Viktor’s joint problem is based off of my joint problem(s), which you probably can’t get from ice skating, but was written more for personal validation than medical accuracy. Also, I know lamictal is usually taken at night, but bipolar Viktor is very important to me so I had to shoehorn it in somehow.  
> This is not as porny as the tags make it sound, the emotions kinda got away from me.  
> Title from Heirloom by Sufjan Stevens, which is intended to be an accompaniment/anthem to this fic.

When Viktor woke up, the first thing he realized was that Yuuri was not next to him. The bed was empty other than him, probably evidence that Yuuri and Makkachin had gone for their usual morning walk. Next, he became aware of the sharp, grating ache in his hip. He cherished the few blissful moments each morning before his pain receptors came back online, until he was faced with the reality of his injury. Viktor lay in the bed for a few moments, staring at the ceiling. Patches of light filtered through the blinds, drawing horizontal lines on the walls. It took a few moments of Viktor assessing the weakness in his hip and knee before he managed to swing himself out of bed, hand reaching for his cane that was propped up on the bedside table. He quickly brushed his teeth, then shuffled out into the kitchen to make himself some tea. The quiet clinking of silverware against ceramic was the only sound in the apartment until Yuuri and Makkachin got home.

 

This would be his life now, he realized, with no small amount of hurt. He would sit at home, only his aching hip to keep him company, while Yuuri went for runs and to the gym. Of course, he was still Yuuri’s coach, would still accompany him to the rink each day, direct him through warm ups and routines, but would he be as useful now that he couldn’t demonstrate to Yuuri how to perfect that jump, how to transition into that spin? He had always been more sure on the ice than on land, but how could he skate again if some mornings he fell on his ass getting out of bed? Maybe he would become a detriment to Yuuri’s career, now. Maybe Yuuri should just get a new coach.

 

“Maybe you should take your medication.” Viktor grumbled to himself.

 

It wouldn’t help the spiral his current thoughts had taken, but maybe the ritual would break him out of the cycle somewhat. He wobbled a little as he stood on the step to reach the medicine cabinet and take out his lamictal. He wanted to be good for Yuuri, above all else. He wanted to push Yuuri to succeed, to excel. Hadn’t he said “I won’t go easy on you; That’s how I show my love”, all those years ago? He wanted Yuuri to know he loved him, that he wanted the best for him. Right now, on the ice, he didn’t know quite how to do that.

 

He sat down on the couch, a little deflated, and picked up the Verlaine anthology he had put aside last night. He had only made his way through a few poems when he heard the scraping of Yuuri’s key in the lock, and he leaned against his cane as he made his way to the door to greet his husband. Makkachin pushed past his legs as the dog headed to her water bowl, and Yuuri’s eyes lit up when they landed on Viktor standing in the hallway, still clad in pyjamas and house socks.

 

“Morning, Vitya.” Yuuri greeted, a smile on his lips. He pressed a kiss to Viktor’s cheek. “How did you sleep?”

 

Viktor ran a hand through sleep-mussed hair. “As well as I can, considering.” He knocked the handle of his cane against his hip for emphasis. Viktor wouldn’t have been wrong in thinking that Yuuri’s answering smile was a little sad.

 

Viktor reached to take Yuuri’s running jacket from his shoulders, and hung it up on a hook on the wall. The simple action loosened something between his shoulders. Yuuri was still standing in the hallway, so Viktor gingerly got to his knees, and unlaced Yuuri’s running shoes, before placing them in a neat line by the door. He never felt more at peace than when he was at his knees in front of Yuuri. He looked up, eyes locking on Yuuri’s, then, trying to convey the meaning behind his next sentence. “Is there anything I can do for you today?”

 

Yuuri let out a rush of air, and brushed his fingers along Viktor’s face. “Is that how it is, this morning?” He asked, fondness plain in his voice.

 

Viktor let his eyelids flutter shut, and nodded. He turned his face to kiss Yuuri’s palm, nuzzling into it.

 

“So good for me, Vitya.” Yuuri crooned. He reached out a hand to help Viktor get up. Viktor pulled embarrassingly hard on Yuuri’s outstretched hand, but soon they were face to face. “Make me breakfast? And we’ll take it from there?” Yuuri always had this way of making his commands sound like questions, even when they really weren’t. Viktor still didn’t know if that was residual anxiety on Yuuri’s behalf, or a way of making Viktor know that he could say no at any time, if he so chose.

 

Viktor trailed into the kitchen, then, pulling the various ingredients for miso from the cupboards and fridge, and turning on the kettle. He could do this for Yuuri, at least. He knew how to follow a training diet in his sleep, and years of practice meant he could make it somewhat interesting. He waited with quiet, hopeful anticipation for Yuuri’s pleased hum when he had the first sip of miso. Viktor loved cooking Japanese food for Yuuri, loved being a small balm for the homesickness he knew his husband sometimes felt. It felt better, somehow, being praised for making something Yuuri had been eating since he was a small child. When the nori was simmering on the stove, Viktor poached the first of four eggs, for added protein. He let himself focus on the familiar routine of making Yuuri breakfast, relaxing into the motion of stirring the miso paste into the boiling water. It was an easy breakfast, and one they ate often, but he felt satisfied with the finished product. He knew Yuuri would appreciate any effort Viktor put in, and would probably eat with that small, satisfied smile he wore when Viktor was particularly adept at whatever task he had been given.

 

He brought the bowl over to the table one by one, only having one hand free while the other gripped his cane. Yuuri put aside the newspaper he had been puzzling over and met Viktor at the table once it was set. He lifted the miso to his lips, and the pleased smile Viktor had been expecting spread across his face as the warmth of the soup spread through his mouth.

 

“This is lovely, Vitya, thank you.” He thanked. His eyes were soft, warm, and Viktor felt them light him up from inside. Viktor preened under the attention, and took that as permission to begin his own breakfast. All through the meal, Yuuri kept looking up, giving him satisfied smiles, occasionally brushing a loving hand along the line of Viktor’s arm. Viktor often felt like he would burst from the joy he got from Yuuri’s gentle attention, and this was no exception.

 

Once they finished their food, Yuuri let Viktor carry the bowls and plates into the kitchen and start on to washing up. Viktor let his eyelids slide to half-shut as he rinsed the plates in the soapy water, and was almost shocked when he felt Yuuri’s arms snake their way around his waist. Yuuri nuzzled his face between Viktor’s shoulder blades, merely acting as a calming weight on Viktor’s back as he worked. He washed the plates, feeling warm from Yuuri’s presence, and then put them on the rack to dry. It never ceased to amaze him, how caring and kind his Yuuri could be to him. He could only go some way to showing his appreciation for Yuuri in tasks like these, could only express his thanks for Yuuri’s unwavering love and support through caring for the physical trappings of their household. When Viktor had washed the last bowl, Yuuri pressed a long kiss to the space between his shoulders, and lifted off of him.

 

“Thank you for that, Viktor.” He said, hands clasping around Viktor’s wrists. “You’re so good to me this morning.”

 

Viktor took in a breath at Yuuri’s words, feeling the praise continue to work on the knots that had set up permanent residence in Viktor’s chest since his physical therapist explained the severity of his injury. He leaned down to press a kiss to Yuuri’s lips, their first real kiss of the morning. It was nothing but a light press of lips against each other, but Viktor felt himself sigh into it, sagging down onto Yuuri a little.

 

“Love you.” Yuuri muttered against his lips.

 

“Love you, too.” Viktor replied, happiness blooming warm and strong in his chest.

 

Yuuri brushed his nose along the line of Viktor’s cheekbone. “How about you fold the washing for me, next?” Yuuri suggested, breath tickling Viktor’s cheek.

 

Viktor nodded, absolutely smitten. When Yuuri asked him to do something in that gentle tone, there was very little he could do to resist it.

 

“I’ll be in the lounge room.” Yuuri told him, and Viktor went to get the washing that Yuuri had put through the dryer last night.

 

He propped the washing basket against his better – but still not perfect – hip, and the slant put a bit of strain on his bad side, but this was the only way he could carry the basket into the lounge room one-handed. He sat the washing on the floor, placing it between the V of his legs. Yuuri was sitting on the couch, again trying to work his way through the newspaper. His spoken Russian was incredible, for someone who had only been learning for a few years, but the written language still vexed him. The light coming through the window was pale, reminiscent of the brisk St Petersburg air, even though they were warm in the safety of their heated apartment, and the way the light played on Yuuri’s face made Viktor’s chest ache. They sat in silence, Viktor folding and Yuuri reading, but it was comfortable. Yuuri would look over his paper and smile at Viktor, pleased with Viktor’s quiet subservience, and Viktor would look up at Yuuri, catch his gaze, and feel a strong, tender joy spread through him. Viktor would do anything for this man, he thought, not for the first time. Yuuri was the steady flame in his often dark room, soothing him through disastrous lows and tempering him through too-thrilling highs. Yuuri was the most calming presence he had ever experienced, and while he wasn’t capable of mellowing out Viktor’s moods, he was able to soothe some of the hurt they brought with them. Viktor’s mind was blank other than his adoration for Yuuri, world narrowing to his husband on the couch and the task in front of him. He could, under Mari’s firm tutelage, fold linens like a true Katsuki, and let satisfaction sit comfortably on his shoulders as he worked. He felt Yuuri’s gaze on him as a steady weight, and would have been entirely content to sit like this for hours, folding washing with Yuuri sitting above him, if it weren’t for the uncomfortable click in his hip.

 

He tried to shake the click out for a second time, after he had finished the folding, when Yuuri asked “Run us a bath?”

 

Viktor nodded, and rose to his feet, shaking his leg again to try and seat his hip comfortably in its socket. His gait was stilted on his way to the bathroom, and he had to sit on the toilet as the bath filled, but his mind was still blissfully quiet. Yuuri padded into the bathroom after a while, newspaper abandoned, and Viktor roused himself from his quiet, almost meditative state, to test the water temperature.

 

“Undress me.” Yuuri almost whispered.

 

The only sound in the room was the running of the water, their breathing, and the sound of their clothes shifting. Viktor pressed his hands along Yuuri’s sides, feeling the strength beneath his fingers. Viktor was slow, reverent, in pulling Yuuri’s shirt over his head, and leaned down to kiss Yuuri once the other man was free of the fabric. He let his hands splay along the tight line of Yuuri’s abdomen, appreciating the shift of muscle as Yuuri breathed. Viktor was careful in dropping to his knees, pressing soft kisses to Yuuri’s stomach, before moving to pull down Yuuri’s compression tights. He slipped each leg off, hands lingering over Yuuri’s feet. He allowed himself to press a gentle kiss to the arch of one of Yuuri’s feet, before moving to take off his own clothes. He was more utilitarian in undressing, shucking his pyjamas without much ceremony. They both slipped into the bath, which was big enough for both of them to sit in without touching. Of course, now, they were pressed up against each other from shoulder to hip, Yuuri running wet hands down Viktor’s chest. Viktor felt the warm water relax his tense muscles, providing some relief to the pain that radiated from his hips.

 

“What did I do to deserve you?” Yuuri whispered, wonder colouring his voice.

 

Viktor ducked down to press a kiss to Yuuri’s neck. “I could say the same about you.” He said into Yuuri’s ear. He let his teeth graze along Yuuri’s pulse point, then, and relished the gasp it drew from his husband.

 

Yuuri continued to let his hands trail across Viktor’s chest, kneading and pressing, before brushing against a nipple.

 

“Yuuri.” Viktor breathed, hand clenching at Yuuri’s side.

 

Yuuri turned to nip the top of Viktor’s ear, nosing into the silver strands above. “So beautiful.” Yuuri praised.

 

Then, Viktor captured his mouth in a kiss. He let Yuuri lead it, yielding where Yuuri pressed, opening when Yuuri asked. He felt heat curl in his belly at the hot press of Yuuri’s tongue against his. Yuuri’s lips, ever-chapped, were insistent against his, and he felt the mood shift when Yuuri’s teeth grazed his lower lip.

 

Viktor’s hand moved to press against Yuuri’s thigh, and he broke their mouths apart. “Can I?” He asked, eyes imploring.

 

Yuuri was breathless when he nodded. “Yes, Viktor, yes, anything.” He said in a rush.

 

Viktor moved them, so that Yuuri was held between his legs, and Viktor’s back was pressed to the edge of the tub. One hand palmed Yuuri’s cock, while the other traced circles onto Yuuri’s gorgeous chest. Viktor felt Yuuri coming to hardness under his attention, and when he pressed his lips into the juncture of Yuuri’s neck and shoulder, he took Yuuri’s half hard length in his hand. He kept his initial strokes light, not giving much friction. The movement of his hand created gentle waves in the water. Yuuri’s sighs were already breathy, and he turned his head to kiss Viktor. The angle wasn’t perfect, and at one point their teeth clacked together, but it was so lovely to have Yuuri’s mouth on his. He let his strokes get gradually faster, firmer, his free hand feeling the flex of Yuuri’s abdominal muscles as he got more worked up. Viktor felt himself getting hard, his whole body pressed against Yuuri, Yuuri’s heaving breaths vibrating through his chest. He created a tight circle with his fist, peering over Yuuri’s shoulder to watch the head of Yuuri’s cock disappear into his fingers and pop back out again. He began to toy with Yuuri’s nipple, drawing a quiet gasp from his husband’s mouth. His thumb flicked at the corona, bright sparks of sensation pulsing through Yuuri’s nervous system. Yuuri was panting now, little pleas slipping from his lips. Viktor stroked faster, relishing the feel of Yuuri’s silky skin under his fingers. He began to twist off his strokes at the head like he knew Yuuri liked, continuing to catch the corona with his thumb. He kept rubbing at one of Yuuri’s nipples, twin points of sensation almost overwhelming for the other man. He could do this for Yuuri, would do it in a heartbeat, just to see the flush rise on Yuuri’s cheeks and hear the pleased little noises that Yuuri made. Before long, Yuuri was gasping out “Viktor, I’m–” and spilling over Viktor’s hands and into the water. Viktor pressed open-mouthed kisses to his neck and coaxed him through the aftershocks, Yuuri shaking slightly against Viktor’s chest.

 

“We should–” Yuuri breathed, indicating the water in front of them.

 

“Yeah.” Viktor agreed, and pushed Yuuri off of him so that they could both get out of the bath. They toweled off quickly, leaving their clothes on the floor when they headed to the bedroom.

 

Yuuri’s smile was beatific when he turned to Viktor, catching his hand in his own. “Do my feet?” He asked, and Viktor wouldn’t say no that that in a million years. Yuuri sat on the bed, and Viktor kneeled below him without thinking, but Yuuri must have caught the moment of pain that crossed Viktor’s face as his hip crunched painfully. “Is this okay, like this?” He checked.

 

Viktor knew Yuuri loved him on his knees, loved to look down and see Viktor beneath him. He wanted to show Yuuri how grateful he was, for everything, and there was no better way to do that than on his knees. “Yes. Yeah, I’m okay like this.” He told Yuuri.

 

“Okay.” Yuuri agreed, a little breathless. “You can start.”

 

Viktor was gentle, at first, simply turning and inspecting Yuuri’s feet. There were no cuts or blisters he had to avoid, this time. He pressed kisses to Yuuri’s ankles, his arches, his toes, cradling Yuuri’s feet with reverence. There was nothing more rewarding than this, to care for Yuuri after orgasm, to feel him come apart from Viktor’s quiet attention to his feet. Viktor began to work on Yuuri’s heel, and was rewarded with a low groan as he worked out soreness there. He moved on to Yuuri’s arches, digging his thumbs into them, and Yuuri was equally as vocal. When he moved to the balls of Yuuri’s feet, Yuuri flopped back onto the bed with a _whump_. “This is good, Vitya.” He complimented around a groan. Viktor wanted to slip into this, wanted to feel nothing but the joy of serving Yuuri, but his hips began to protest. He began to massage Yuuri’s ankle, his hip beginning to ache in earnest. He grit his teeth against the pain, and continued with his task. The pain mounted steadily, quickly, and when he moved to Yuuri’s other foot, there were tears pricking at his eyes. By the time he was working on the arch of Yuuri’s right foot, tears were rolling down his cheeks. He needed to finish this, needed to be useful for Yuuri. He couldn’t let his shitty hips take this away from him, too. He had already lost so much, he couldn’t bear to lose this too. He drew in a shaky breath, and Yuuri sat up immediately, looking down at him.

 

“Viktor, what’s wrong?” He asked, sounding panicked.

 

“I– I can’t– My hip.” Viktor pushed the words out, a wet sob building in his chest.

 

“Oh, oh, love.” Yuuri said, pulling Viktor up onto the bed.

 

Viktor felt the first sob break from his chest, and then suddenly he was bawling pathetically. It wasn’t even from the pain, really, just from the overwhelming feeling that he had _failed_ Yuuri. Yuuri ran gentle hands up his sides and over his back, pressing fervent kisses all over Viktor’s face. He kissed the salty tears from Viktor’s cheeks, and peppered them over his forehead, and pushed their lips together like he was trying to shove happiness into Viktor through their joined lips. Yuuri’s movements were frantic like they always were when Viktor cried, and something in Viktor felt immeasurably guilty for distressing him like this.

 

“I couldn’t do it.” Viktor ground out, eyes hot with tears. He felt anger, self-loathing, bubble up inside him. “I couldn’t even do this for you without my fucking hip getting in the way.”

 

Yuuri continued to rub Viktor’s back, but he leaned back to look the other man in the eyes. “What?” He asked, incredulous. “Viktor, you’ve done so much for me this morning. You need to look after yourself.”

 

“I don’t _want_ to look after myself.” Viktor said, because he wanted to look after Yuuri. He only ever wanted to look after Yuuri.

 

Yuuri pulled Viktor close to his chest again, squeezing him again. “Oh, Vitya.” He said, voice sad.

 

Viktor turned his face into Yuuri’s shoulder. “I wanted to be useful to you.” He sighed. “Because… Because I can’t skate for you now.”

 

Viktor felt rather than heard Yuuri’s intake of breath. “You are useful to me.” Yuuri insisted, and then reconsidered. “Besides, I don’t want you because you’re _useful_ to me. I want you because you’re _you_.”

 

That was precisely the problem. Who was Viktor without skating?

 

“Vitya,” Yuuri began again, hands stilling. “Viktor, I will love you long after neither of us can skate anymore.” He pressed a kiss to the side of Viktor’s head. “Promise.”

 

Viktor let a few hiccupy sobs break through then, and lay down, pulling Yuuri with him. They lay in silence for a while, feeling the rise and fall of each other’s chests.

 

“It’s scary.” Viktor whispered to the room, finally. “My life, now. I don’t really know what to do.”

 

Yuuri nosed along Viktor’s collarbone. “Well, me, hopefully.” He teased, and Viktor could feel him smile against his skin. “But also, that’s not something you have to figure out alone. Okay? We can do that together.”

 

Viktor drew in a deep breath, still a little shaky. He felt exposed, and not just because he was still naked. He squeezed Yuuri’s shoulder, finding immense comfort in Yuuri’s solid weight beside him. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Viktor realized, not for the first time.

 

Yuuri kissed him again, soft and tender. “Me neither.” Yuuri shifted, until he was sitting on Viktor’s stomach. He leaned down to press a kiss to Viktor’s nose. “I hope I never have to find out.”


End file.
